


1982

by Raindropsonwhiskers



Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who (1963), Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Bittersweet, Fluff and Angst, Gen, Other, and pretty much whenever for the Master, mismatched relationship, set some time after Spyfall for the Doctor, thats the whole fic, the Master is soft and the Doctor is sad
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-21
Updated: 2020-11-21
Packaged: 2021-03-09 19:02:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,451
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27651049
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Raindropsonwhiskers/pseuds/Raindropsonwhiskers
Summary: The Master's devious, cunning plan gets the Doctor's attention - it just happens to be a Doctor he wasn't expecting. A Doctor much more melancholy than his own.
Relationships: The Doctor/The Master (Doctor Who)
Comments: 10
Kudos: 50





	1982

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into Русский available: [1982](https://archiveofourown.org/works/28288398) by [HarmfulCupcake](https://archiveofourown.org/users/HarmfulCupcake/pseuds/HarmfulCupcake)



> I started writing this months ago and just got reminded about it,, today, so I polished it up and decided to post! Enjoy my first attempts at writing the Master I *claim* is my favorite  
> The title is from a Randy Travis song because I'm a sucker for sad old country songs and the lyrics,, kind of fit?? If you squint??? Look, I don't actually know why me-from-several-months-ago named it this

In retrospect, perhaps the Master should have seen this coming. He had, after all, designed this particular plot with the intent to catch the Doctor's attention - but he had intended to lure in  _ his _ Doctor, all velvet and white hair and banter, not this blonde with trousers that don't fit and eyes far too sad for how young she looks.

Still, he's not one to let something so small as getting the wrong Doctor throw him off. There's still a ticking radioactive bomb that will need to be dealt with, and it doesn't  _ really _ matter which of the Doctor's bodies handles it.

Except, she doesn't handle it. She lands her TARDIS in the main room of the industrial complex holding the bomb, takes one look at the tableau of terror that the Master had spent several hours perfecting, and then sighs heavily.

"Doctor?" The Master tries to keep the worry out of his tone. "Is there a reason why you aren't disabling the bomb?"

The Doctor sighs again. He looks at her, really looks, and sees just how tired she is. It's a miracle she's not passing out where she stands.

"Look, try making yourself a bit more obvious," the Doctor suggests after a moment, the cheer in her voice so obviously false the Master can't help but feel insulted. "It's just a matter of time before he'll show up and foil your plans, I promise. UNIT probably just hasn't caught wind of this one yet. Give it a few hours."

She turns and heads back for her TARDIS, but the Master isn't a fool. He'd like to think he knows his best friend, and he can tell something is wrong.

"Doctor!" he calls.

The Doctor pauses, twisting to look at him.

"What is distracting you, my dear?" he asks. "This would normally capture your interest quite thoroughly."

Again, she forces a smile onto her lips that's about as real as the Master's intent to harm her. "It's nothing. Just don't want to interfere with my old self's timeline, s'all."

That is a lie if the Master has ever heard one. The Doctor has never particularly cared for the sanctity of their own timeline, and he highly doubts that's going to change.

"Tell me the truth, Doctor," he says. Hypnotism laces the words, though he isn't sure how effective it will be. This Doctor's mind is hard to get a grasp on.

Apparently, it doesn't work at all. The Doctor freezes and whirls around to pin him with a glare. "Don't. I'm not the Doctor you want, and I'm not going to play your games."

"Not the Doctor I want?" the Master repeats, somewhere between baffled and offended. "My dear Doctor, the implication that I prefer any one of your bodies to another is absurd. While I will admit I was aiming for a younger incarnation, I am hardly going to protest a chance to match wits with a more experienced opponent."

He doesn't acknowledge the second part of her rebuttal, because their games have been a cornerstone of their relationship - regardless of what form that has taken - since they were old enough to play 4-dimensional chess. The thought of  _ not _ indulging in some level of competition with the Doctor is oxymoronic.

"Really, I can't do this," the Doctor says. "It's too dangerous."

She sounds more like she's trying to convince herself than him. That worries him.

"You do know my main purpose for these plots is to capture your attention, not to harm you, correct?"

Something about his reply makes her glance away from him, with something that almost resembles guilt. What on Gallifrey could have prompted that?

The Master falters slightly. He doesn't particularly enjoy admitting it, but... "Surely you are aware of this, Doctor."

"I miss when things were that simple." It's not really a response to his question; more like she's talking to herself, and he happens to have heard it. "It was nice, playing rivals without meaning it."

The anxiety turning in his stomach goes from idle worrying to genuine concern. There's a bitterness in her tone, something old and tired that hints at problems far heavier than one of them taking things a little too far.

"What happens?" he asks, before he can think better of it.

"Can't tell you that," the Doctor says quickly. She's deflecting, it's obvious.

"Very well." She may be deflecting, but she also has a point. Knowing his own future won't do any good. "At least let me help you with whatever is burdening you, my dear."

"It's… it's complicated," the Doctor sighs. "There's nothing you can do. It's really best if I just leave."

And yet, she stays for a moment longer. Her hands are shoved into her coat pockets, and she rocks back and forth slightly on her feet. Finally, she says, "Would you mind- I mean, would it be alright if I-"

The Master doesn't know what the end to that question is, but it doesn't really matter. Whatever she needs, he is more than happy to give.

"Of course, Doctor," he says softly.

"Just for five minutes," she adds, like she's trying to justify herself to him.

And then, in a whirl of pastel fabric and yellow hair, there's a pair of arms thrown around him and a head buried in his shoulder. The Master stumbles briefly, surprised by the rather abrupt hug, but slowly moves his arms to hold her.

At first, it's a little bit awkward. The Doctor hugs like she hasn't done it in quite a while. To be fair, neither has the Master, but he isn't the one clutching on like he's afraid she's about to disappear. Then, slowly, she relaxes, until the Master is supporting her almost entirely.

"I really do miss this," she whispers, muffled slightly by his suit. "Loving you without all the guilt. Hasn't stopped me, but it makes it worse. Especially when you-" she trails off. "It doesn't matter."

There’s no good response to that. He doesn’t know what’s to come, what sort of things either of them will do, how their relationship will change. All he can do is try to soothe his broken-hearted friend.

“You can’t remember this,” the Doctor says after a moment. “But I’m going to tell you anyways. In a few centuries, you’re going to think that I hate you. I don’t. Even when we’re at each other’s throats, I still love you. And I’m sorry.”

The Master runs a gentle hand over her back. “For what, my dear?"

“For what I’m going to do.”

Of the two of them, the Master has always been the better telepath. He can tell as soon as the Doctor begins to reach her mind out to his, and he can tell precisely when she starts to tamper with the memories. It would be easy to stop her, easy to tuck away the events of the past ten minutes and keep them safe. In the end, though, the Master lets the Doctor change what she needs to in order to keep the timelines smooth.

As soon as she leaves his mind, he knows he’s going to forget any of this ever happened. Already, he can feel the memories begin to fuzz at the edges, the details blurring and fading. There is one thing he wishes to keep, though; one little fragment of an experience that he knows his mind will pass off as a dream. He keeps the feeling of holding the Doctor, the gentle beat of their hearts and the warmth of their skin. It’s been a long, long time since that last happened, and he has a feeling it will be longer still before it does again. She can hardly begrudge him a small piece of happiness. After all, he gave her the same.

The memories blur and fade as the- the woman - he can’t remember who she is now, though his hearts ache at the sadness in her eyes - she-

"You're not going to remember this," she says softly. "You'll remember waiting for the Doctor to show up for a while, realizing he hasn't noticed, and then contacting UNIT directly to make a threat."

Her arms tighten around him - why does that feel so familiar? - and then she steps away, leaving him standing there. A moment later, she's gone.

The Master blinks. He must have gotten distracted thinking about the Doctor, because nearly ten minutes have passed on the timer. Despite that, there's still no sign of his rival. Perhaps he should send something suitably threatening to UNIT to catch his attention. It would hardly do to have such an elaborate plot go to waste simply because the Doctor hadn't noticed, after all.


End file.
